


Superman

by mochiboom



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-24
Updated: 2011-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:33:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochiboom/pseuds/mochiboom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Kurosaki’s inhuman side shines through his human skin like the sun through clouds. It is something Ishida has yet to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Superman

**Author's Note:**

> This struck me while watching the 4th Bleach movie this evening. It’s very easy, I think, to forget how young the main protagonists are. They’re barely in highschool. I don’t understand how they can go into these situations and not get scared. Ichigo, in particular, is portrayed as literally a Superman. He charged into Hell barely considering the risks, yet he seemed to only be mildly surprised at the horrors he saw there. Yet there are glimpses of his youth in this film that you don’t seen in the manga/anime; his genuine hysteria when Yuzu can’t be healed and his fury at not being able to save his friends, again. I want to see more of this Ichigo Kurosaki. The fearlessness must end somewhere.

Sometimes Kurosaki’s inhuman side shines through his human skin like the sun through clouds. It is something Ishida has yet to understand.

Both of them are barely seventeen, yet both of them have been farther from home than any of their friends will ever go in their entire lives, both have died and yet both have come back to life.

Ishida thinks, as he runs from the Hell Guardians behind them, Hell disintegrating under their feet, that there has to be a breaking point somewhere. He’s followed Kurosaki (now literally) no Hell and back; not back yet he reminds himself grimly, and neither Kurosaki, Ishida himself or any of their friends have ever questioned it.

Kurosaki has a habit of not only attracting attention, but also charging headlong into it. Ishida, like a sheep, has followed him into it every time. The first time, he’d been terrified, terrified that he might die, that Kurosaki might die, or that they would fail and would lose their powers forever.

Ishida revelled in being different. While he look, on the outside, like any other studious Japanese teenager, he was travelling to Soul Society, he was fighting Hollows, her was rescuing a friend from Hueco Mundo; he was special. And, rather selfishly, Ishida thought, he didn’t want that to change.

He was still thinking about this even as they just made it out of Hell, and his heart leapt into his throat as he realised they were falling, no; plummeting. The relief that washed over him when Orihime rescued them was so palpable he could taste it at the back of his throat.

Vaguely, he heard Inoue talking at him, but he was son engrossed in his thoughts he jumped a mile when Kurosaki put a hand on his shoulder.  
“What the hell, Ishida? It’s just me!” Kurosaki waved his arms animatedly, near-shouting. Ishida sighed, pushed his glasses back up his nose and stood.

“I can see that, Kurosaki.” He brushed his trousers off. Look at the state they’re in, terrible. “My apologies, Inoue-san, I’m tired. If you’ll all excuse me, I’ll being leaving now.” Kurosaki shouted something at him again, but Ishida closed the door on him.

Dusk was falling as he made his way home, taking the shorter way and using Hirenkyaku to vault over houses and shops. The sun just dipped below the horizon as he landed before his front door. He fished around in his pocket for his key and opened the door, sunlight leaking into the dark apartment. He flicked the lights on and shut the door, glaring at a bulb as it flickered. He toed his shoes off, placing them against the wall and walked to the kitchen, absently popping open the fastening on his cape.

He’d just put the kettle on when he heard a hammering on his window and glanced up in surprise. Kurosaki was crouched on the ledge of his balcony. Ishida nearly dropped his tea cup when he noticed the other boy wasn’t in shinigami uniform, but in jeans and a hoodie.

“You idiot!” Ishida hurried over, wrenching the door open and pulled Kurosaki in by his hoodie drawstrings. Kurosaki tumbled onto the carpet. “What if someone had seen you? And how did you get up here?”

Kurosaki looked up at him. “I climbed?” He offered. Ishida nearly kicked him.

“I’m on the fifth floor” Ishida gritted out, poking Kurosaki’s stomach with his foot.

“Ow- hey! Cut that out!” Kurosaki swatted irritably at Ishida’s foot. Ishida rolled his eyes and turned back to the forgotten teapot.

“What are you doing here, Kurosaki?” Ishida ground out as he spooned loose tea into the strainer with perhaps more force than was necessary. The kettle bubbled quietly behind him on the stove.

“Well you seemed a bit funny when you left so I wanted to come and-“ Ishida cut him off by slamming the spoon on the countertop.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Kurosaki. Haven’t you learnt just to leave me alone.” he grabbed the squealing kettle and poured the boiling water into the pot, slamming the lid back on. “As for me feeling funny, I don’t understand why you’d even have to ask!” He snatched his teacup and stormed over to the sofa, pointedly turning his back on Kurosaki.

He was breathing quite heavily by the time he’d finished his outburst and his chest still ached from earlier despite Inoue healing all his wounds. The mottled scar that rested just under his ribs throbbed in time to his heartbeat.

The sofa cushions sank as Kurosaki sat next to him, so close their thighs touched. Ishida moved away petulantly, watching the steam from the tea swirl in the air. He didn’t flinch when Kurosaki leant against him, sighing into his neck, although the hairs on the back of his neck tingled at the sensation.

“’M sorry, Ishida.” Kurosaki’s voice was low, quiet and Ishida was mollified. He reached for his tea but Kurosaki grabbed his hand and gripped it tightly. “I haven’t… forgotten, you know.” Kurosaki murmured.

Ishida swallowed, slowly turning to face the boy next to him. Kurosaki was staring at him with such regret in his eyes that Ishida’s earlier frustrations were forgotten for the moment. “I know, Kurosaki, but-” He drew Kurosaki’s hand to rest on his chest. “You didn’t kill me; I’m still here, my heart is still beating. So you don’t need to be sorry. I’m sure you would have done the same.”

Kurosaki’s fingers clenched in the white cloth of Ishida’s Quincy tunic and he yanked Ishida forwards into a hug. Ishida flailed for an instant, then slowly reciprocated, placing his hands gently on Kurosaki’s back, warm beneath his touch.

“I just…” Kurosaki’s breath was hot and damp at his neck and Ishida resisted the urge to flinch away. “I keep remembering… only flashes, but.” I was so scared I’d killed you.

The unspoken words drifted between them.

“But nothing, Kurosaki.” Ishida half-snapped, drawing back to stare him right in the face. “You didn’t kill me and I still don’t think you would have. Even though Ulquiorra stopped you this time, I don’t believe he ever needed to. You would have stopped on your own.”

Kurosaki gaped at him, hands still clenched loosely in his tunic.

“As for being scared,” Ishida continued. “I’d be more worried if you weren’t. I am terrified, every time I follow you, that I’ll die, or you’ll die, or something will go wrong. I thought to myself, either Kurosaki’s some sort of Superman, or he’s very good at hiding his fear.” He smiled wryly. “Imagine my relief when I find out you get scared, too.”

Kurosaki wiped miserably at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. Ishida slid his fingers around Kurosaki’s face and tilted his face up.

“Even heroes have the right to bleed, Kurosaki.”


End file.
